


Over London (A Bunch of Loosely Connected Oneshots)

by ROOMBA_FIERCE



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fighting, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Maybe - Freeform, Reaper's a dad, and totally doesn't have a thing for 76, dva's and angry gremlin, nothing too heavy, probably some fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-22 16:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16601735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ROOMBA_FIERCE/pseuds/ROOMBA_FIERCE
Summary: An assorted and loosely connected series of oneshots featuring our favorite sniper and speedster





	1. Little Lion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now edited!

Sometimes Lena wondered if it was worth it. All the fighting, the pain, the Slipstream. After she’d been kicked out of her own apartment, well, Emily's apartment that she’d helped pay for, Lena had taken her gear and found an empty rooftop. Her pistols and combat uniform were scattered behind her, and her legs dangled over the edge of the building, and she watched a small part of King’s Row go about its business.

Some days she knew Overwatch wasn’t worth what she’d gone through. If she had known what was coming when she put on the Overwatch uniform, she would have turned and ran. A life of pain and nightmares. And death.

How many times had Angela brought her back to life? A dozen? A hundred? How long before she wouldn’t get there in time? How long until Lena was really and truly dead, or worse, lost to the Slipstream?

She reached down, tracing the blue machine on her chest. The source of her problems. Without it, she could have just left Overwatch, lived a normal life. Without it, she wouldn’t have gone on one too many night missions, wouldn’t have worried Emily so much.

Without it, she might still be in a tiny little flat with what she had thought was the love of her life.

She tried not to think about it, she really did. But some days were worse than others. She didn’t tell the rest of the crew, of course. They all had their own problems. And she couldn’t very well go back and admit she didn’t have a place to stay, could she?

 _No,_ Lena thought, shaking her head, _I’ll find a hotel._

Going back to Overwatch would lead to questions after all. And questions would lead to answers she’d been avoiding.

She didn’t realize she was crying till the first tears fell, dropping onto her legs as they dangled above the streets below, only the very edge of the high rise between her and a hundred foot fall.

Briefly, she wondered if she would recall if, somehow, she did fall. She shook that thought off. No need to think about it.

Lena wiped away her tears, taking a deep, steadying breath, a breath that did absolutely nothing. She was crying hard now, her whole body shaking with it. She’d lost everything, _everything_ for Overwatch. What was left to fight for?

She didn’t get to follow that line of thought. A hand grabbed her by the jacket, lifting her up and slamming her down. Too far from the ledge for her to escape that way.

Though, it seemed, that was the point.

Blue skin, golden eyes, Widow’s Kiss slung over her back, impassive as ever. “Don’t sit so close to the edge.” Widowmaker said.

And then the sniper narrowed narrowed her eyes. “Why are you crying?” She asked. “Who- who…” She trailed off, waiting for a response.

Lena was silent for a second, while she processed the fact that not only had Widowmaker not shot her, but she was now leaning over her. A very intimidating, very hot Widowmaker (not that Lena had noticed). She was out of her skin tight combat outfit, instead in overly baggy jeans and a sweatshirt, hood now thrown back and her hair trailing down off of her left shoulder.

“Get off.” Lena said, the shock clearing. “Get off of me.” She struggled, half heartedly for a second, before, slowly, Widowmaker, lifted her hands off of the smaller girls shoulders.

“Who did this to you?” Widowmaker asked as Lena rolled out from under her and stood, shakily, but still dropping into a fighting stance.

“Why do you care?” Lena snapped back. “Why didn’t you just shoot my while you had the chance?”

“There’s a difference between hunting a lion and hunting a mouse, chérie.” Widowmaker said, trying to believe that that was the only reason she hadn’t pulled the trigger.

“Wonderful.” Lena snarled. That startled Widowmaker. Never, never, had Lena snarled. Widowmaker hadn’t even been sure the girl could. But now she was, lunging for her pistols.

If she’d had the breath to spare, Widowmaker would have sighed in relief. They were back to their dance, even if it felt off. This, at least, she understood.

But then it all fell apart. Lena rushed her, and all it took was a sidestep and a punch, and the girl was floored. Ther was a long pause before anything happened. And then Lena spoke, and Widowmaker's heart dropped. 

“Just shoot me.” Lena said, not bothering to get up. “Just fucking shoot me.”

Widowmaker stopped. Something about that voice, something about the words, something about that _damned girl_ made her heart ache. It was not a good feeling, but it was a feeling. And she wanted more.

She needed more.

“Get up, chérie.” Widowmaker said.

Lena didn’t. She rolled over, looking up to Widowmaker.

“What do I have left, Widow?” She asked. “Emily left me. I have no home, I’ve got no friends, I’ve got nothing.”

The sniper knelt, grabbing Lena by the front of her shirt, pulling her closer, until the were nose to nose.

“Wha-”

“You will not die by anyone’s hand but mine. You will not die until I allow it.” WIdowmaker said, silencing Lena. “And I am not done with you yet, Tracer.”

And she pulled Lena closer. Their lips met, and Lena thought the world had gone mad.

When Widowmaker pulled back, she held Lena up for a long second, searching her eyes for something. The sniper herself didn’t even know what it was, but somehow, she found it.

And that pounding in her chest, the heat in her face…

It felt good. She wanted more. But not yet.

So instead the whispered in Lena’s ear, “Another time, little lion.”

And then she was gone, dropping Lena and using her grappling hook to pull herself to the next building, and then the next, putting distance between herself and Lena.

Lena was left lying on the roof, staring up at the stars, moving her mouth but not making any sound.

“Mother of god.” She finally whispered.

She stood slowly, touching her lips, almost in disbelief.

“Bloody hell.” She said. She took a few minutes to gather up her stuff. She needed to find a hotel, needed some time to think, to figure out _what the hell_ had just happened.

So she did. There was still pain, and it only got worse when she booked a little room in a shadier hotel, but there was something else.

She didn’t stop thinking about Emily, but she also didn’t stop thinking about the moment just before her and Widowmaker's lips had met, and the few seconds after.

Somewhere in the night, Widowmaker knelt, watching through her scope as Lena checked into the hotel, smiling when she saw Lena still touching her lips.

“Goodnight, little lion.” She whispered.


	2. Drawing Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now edited!

They danced a deadly dance. And yet, it seemed neither wanted to end it. They’d both had opportunities, when one had a bad day, or the other had a string of poor luck.

But always, when the killing shot was there, ready to be taken, it seemed to miss.

And then things changed.

They were meeting on rooftops, in dark alleys and abandoned buildings. It seemed their want for the dance could not be sated by their infrequent meetings on the battlefield. They needed more.

Neither questioned it, even when the dance seemed to take on a more personal tone. They spent longer locked together, pinned against a wall, one trying to overpower the other.

For Lena Oxton, it was a way to forget. Forget Emily, the woman who had broken her hearts and nearly robbed her of the will to keep fighting. Forget the Slipstream, and all the pain it brought. Forget her dead friends, spend a few hours without their ghosts rising up to haunt her.

For Amélie Lacroix, it was a way to remember. Remember what it felt like to have a heart thumping in her chest, what it felt like to miss a shot, to enjoy the wild , savage fighting she so rarely got to. It was a way to remember that there was more than just Talon, more than just the mission. It was a way to remember that maybe, just maybe, there was another place for her to go.

But they never spoke of their reasons, not out loud. They had guesses, of course, but they needed these fights, and the savagery and the calm that came with them. It was almost therapeutic.

And then it the nature of the meetings changed again. They still fought, but it was almost lazily, as if they had other plans and were just going through formalities. Lena bought a portable  Holoplayer, cheap and old, but still useful, and more often than not, the night would find them in some dark corner, always separated by a foot or more, watching an old blockbuster, or, when Lena thought Widowmaker needed it, one of the few classic french films she’d managed to scrounge up.

Over time, thought, that foot of separation shrank. First it was subtle, a foot became ten inches, then nine, then seven. Then it was four, and they noticed. But neither said anything about it.

And then, in Lena’s new apartment, something happened. Widowmaker, Amélie, whoever she was now, reached across what little gap remained, pulling Lena closer, until they were holding each other.

“Love?” Lena asked.

“You’re warm.” Widowmaker whispered after a pause.

Lena flushed. “T-thanks, I guess?” She said. She tried to ignore their closeness, or the slow, steady  _ thump-ump  _ of Amélie’s heart beating next to hers.

Somewhere, towards the end of the movie, sleep took Lena, and, unconsciously, she nuzzled into Amélie’s side. The sniper leaned back, until she was resting against the headboard of Lena’s bed.

She was smiling, running a hand through Lena’s hair.

“Goodnight,  _ ma chérie.”  _ She whispered, before she too, drifted off, leaning against the smaller girl, resting her head on her wild brown hair.

They woke up like that, leaning against each other, the Holoplayer running through the movies main menu, having long since finished the film.

Widowmaker awoke first, a split second of panic and  _ where am I? _ Running through her before she realize that she was on Lena’s bed, and it was the girl herself who was clinging tight to her. Somewhere in the night they had worked themselves into a more comfortable position, kicking the Holoplayer to the edge of the bed and, between Amélie’s long legs and Lena’s sprawling arms, took up the rest of the space.

Lena’s arms had wrapped themselves around Amélie, and her head was now pressed into Amélie’s back, her breath sending shivers up the snipers spine.

For a second, Amélie was at peace. She could wake up like this for the rest of her life and have no complaints.

But then she remembered why she could not wake up like this for the rest of her life. Overwatch, Talon, Tracer, Widowmaker. Sometimes she thought of casting the mantle off, going solo, or, dare she even think it, joining the reformed Overwatch.

But those who had created her were masters of manipulation and fear. And there was so much to use against Amélie.

“Amé?” Lena asked, groggily, snapping Amélie from her thoughts.

“Chérie?”

“Thank you,” Lena said, “for staying.”

“You would have done the same for me.” Amélie said.

"Amé, is this..." She left the rest of her question unspoken, but Amélie knew what she wanted to ask. Finally, Lena finished the question. "What does this mean?"

"I don't know." Widowmaker said, after a pause. "But I can promise you one thing."

"What?"

"When you need me, I will help you." Amélie said. "And I know the same is true if I need help."

“We take care of each other,  _ma chérie._ ” Amélie said. "Whatever that means. We take care of each other." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick right, and decent considering its ten here and I'm writing in the dark. 
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes, comment if you have any suggestions, or prompts you want me to consider on (I would love to have some outside ideas mixing i here)
> 
> Otherwise, cheers mates, enjoy a bit more fluff


	3. Cavalry's Here!

In Widowmaker’s opinion, there was nothing quite like fighting Lena ‘Tracer’ Oxton. It was a rush of fists and bullets and punches and kicks until everything blurred into one violent tapestry.

It was beautiful. It was nothing like the cool detachment and then the oh so short rush of adrenaline of her normal kills. No.

Fighting Tracer was wonderful. No matter how many times Widowmaker thought (regretted) she’d finally, finally, _finally,_ killed the girl, she always came back. Always.

It was one of the few constants she had, and Widowmaker relished it. Today was no different.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gunshots split what would be a peaceful night in King’s Row, as, yet again, Talon operatives made a push for the power plant. WHat intel Athena could scrounge up didn’t tell them exactly why they were going for the plant, but it had been enough for Jack Morrison to call in a full strike team. _A full strike team!_

The last time Lena had been on a full team had been before the fall of the old Overwatch. For a few months after the recall, they hadn’t even had enough agents to field a full team, but now, now they could do three. Simultaneously.

That made her happy. It felt like she was back in the old Overwatch. Jack had started taking command more and more, despite his insistence that he does things alone and that _I am not Jack Morrison, goddammit._

That didn’t stop Lena from calling him commander, nor the older agents from calling him Jack. At some point, he’d give up the mask (hopefully) and they’d have their old commander back.

“Tracer, stay with McCree and D.Va.” Morrison said. “I’ll escort Mercy and Zenyatta to the payload. Just hold it.”

Somewhere during the fight, the only three members of their team that could act as medics had gotten separated from the group, leaving Tracer, McCree, and D.Va to defend the entrance to the power plant. Last she’d heard, the British were ignoring both Talon and Overwatch activity for the time being, which meant that help was approximately an hour and a half away by heavy burn from Gibraltar.

Their defence was further complicated by the fact that not long into the fight, D. Va’s mech had absorbed too much fire to hold together, and while the Korean had taken out a few dozen Talon commandos with its final blast, she was now mechless, and firing with a tiny pistol made for emergency close quarters combat.

And now Widowmaker had joined the fray. The first shot had gone over Lena’s shoulder, just barely. An invitation, but one Tracer could not accept. Not while D. Va was vulnerable and McCree was taking far more fire than he should.

“Sniper.” McCree snapped, ducking behind cover to reload. “Tracer-”

“You need me here.” She said, cutting him off. “I’ll get up top when the commander gets here.”

“We’re moving as fast as we can.” Morrison said. “A minute out, at most.”

A minute too late, Tracer thought, as another shot took D. Va in the shoulder. Not her main arm, but still. There was a pause, in which Tracer ducked behind cover, glancing over to McCree, raising an eyebrow with an unspoken question. _Can you keep fighting?_ He nodded to her.

“D. Va, stay down.” Tracer said. “McCree, we’ve got to hold the line. Focus on the big guys, I’ll see if I can thin their numbers. You ready?”

“Always am, darlin’” McCree said. And they both rose, spinning to bring their weapons to bear on the regrouping Talon force.

And then Tracer was blinking to them, through them, spinning and shooting with wild abandon, and McCree was behind her, picking off the bigger targets one at a time.

For a few moments, it seemed like it was working. Then, as things usually do, it fell apart.

There was another shot, and then bright sparks and a curse. “I’m hit.” Mcree said, ducking back down. “Nothing too serious.”

Tracer scrambled for a bit of cover, pausing to think. He could have been shot through the heart and have said those same words, so Tracer decided she’d have to finish this alone.

“Stay down, McCree.” She said. “Wait for reinforcements.”

“Mech is forty five seconds out.” D. Va said. “I can pilot it with one good arm, just stay alive ‘till then.”

“You got it.” Tracer said. And then she was among the Talon operatives again, spinning, shooting, killing.

It was what she was best at. And, for a few seconds, it looked like she’d manage to avoid the rain of bullets that surrounded her. Until one buried itself in her leg, throwing her to the side.

But, even as the remains of the commandos surrounded her, intending to get at least one kill out of this botched mission, Tracer smiled.

“Looks like party stops here, loves.” She said.

“I’ve got you in my sights.” They all heard it, hell, some of the Talon goons managed to turn fast enough to bring their weapons up. But none of them were a fast as Strike Commander Morrison when one of his soldiers was threatened. No one was.

And then Mercy was gliding up from behind him, the healing tendril of her caduceus reaching out to repair her damaged leg, along with the various cut, bruises, and scrapes she’d collected through the night.

“We have more incoming.” McCree said after a pause. “Looks like our friends are going for a second push.”

There was a _whump-crunch,_ and then D. Va was saying, “Mech’s back. Still bleeding, but I’ll be good.”

“Over my dead body.” Mercy said, shaking her head. She pulled Tracer to her feet, before jumping over to D. Va.

“This isn’t a normal night.” Tracer said, looking between Zenyatta and Morrison. She could feel it, it the frantic fighting of Talon’s best, in the way everything was so tense between the team.

“It does not appear so.” Zenyatta said, in his carefully modulated voice. “But I believe we will still prevail.”

“Of course you do.” Morrison said. “Tracer, keep that sniper off out backs. Everyone else, take up positions around the plant. They’re not getting in tonight.”

“Aye, commander.” Tracer said, turning and blinking up towards where she thought she’d seen Widowmaker, turning off her mike. She’d rather not let the rest of the team hear her trading banter (flirting) with Widowmaker for the entire fight.

She was wrong. All she found was an empty roof, no sign of the sniper.

But Widowmaker was happy to reveal herself with a shot, one that would have turned Tracer’s head into a gooey mess had she not blinked away in time.

“Thank god for paranoia.” Tracer said, before jumping over her chosen cover (the low lip of a cement ledge) and rushing the sniper.

And the two danced, rooftop to rooftop, matching each other blow for blow. Truly a spectacle. The world could have been ending around them, and they would not have known, so focused on the others eyes, the way their body turned in preparation for a counter strike, the feints hidden in feints.

They were masters of their deadly art, and neither seemed able to gain the upper hand.

It was Tracer who stopped first, wiping a bit of blood off her chin, gingerly feeling a split lip.

“Widow, love, can we call it a night?” She asked.

“Giving up already, chérie?” Widowmaker asked with a sly smile. They’d lost their weapons somewhere on the rooftops behind them. Well, Widowmaker had lost her rifle and Tracer had allowed her pistols to retract into their gauntlets, just to even the odds.

“It’s a weird night. Your lot seems like they’re fighting for their lives instead of their normal ‘I’m here for the money’ kinda thing.” Tracer said, turning from Widowmaker and looking down, over kings row, finding the flashing lights and distant cracks of gunfire that was the battle raging below them. “What’s up with that?”

“Doomfist doesn’t believe our mercenaries are fighting well enough. This is their last chance before they’re phased out.” Widowmaker said, matter of factly. It wasn’t like Tracer would tell anyone in Overwatch, and the information wasn’t important.

Tracer gulped. “Phased out as in…”

“Killed and replaced.” Widowmaker said. “The next time we fight, it will be with far superior men on my side.”

“Wonderful.” Tracer said, shaking her head.

And then their comms burst to life. Tracer could hear the far of voice of whoever gave Widowmaker orders (the poor, unlucky soul) ordering her back to the battlefield.

“Tracer, we’re breaking through.” And then Jack was in her ear. “If you’re done with the sniper, get back here.”

“Wonderful.” Tracer said, glancing over to Widowmaker. “We done, love?”

“For now.” She said with a wink, launching her grappling hook and swinging off into the night. Tracer turned her mike back on.

“I’m on my way.” She said, shaking her head and wondering if a certain spider would make an appearance on her balcony. It had happened before after all. She blinked downward, back to her team.

“Cavalry’s here!” Tracer yelled as she dived back into the fight, spinning and twirling, doing what she did best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another bit I wish was better, but another bit ll the same.
> 
> Cheers, mates, I'll see y'all in the Overwatch shipping dumpster


	4. Without Speedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now edited!

When Tracer was not in the field, Widowmaker’s job became significantly harder to do. Not because someone else fought her and gave her a harder time time (no one was capable of doing that anyway), but because she had shoot to kill orders on all Overwatch agents. And Overwatch was her best chance to escape Talon, if she ever wanted too.

One day, she knew, her little dance with Tracer would end, either with a gunshot, or a deal. Widowmaker, quietly and very privately, hoped it wouldn’t be with a bang. But those were thoughts for later. 

Right now, she had to figure out how to act like she was trying to kill Overwatch agents without actually killing them.

That was the problem. It’s very hard to fake trying to kill someone, especially when you’re the worlds best sniper and  _ that damn angel doesn’t know what cover is. _

She knew the order would come, put a bullet right between those blue eyes. So she made a different call.

Her bullet glanced of the blue falcons armor, sending Pharah and Mercy scuttling for cover. And revealing Widomaker’s position.

There was cursing over the comns, probably directed at her, but Widowmaker didn’t care. All she had to do now was sit back and wait. Standard procedure was to send someone after her, someone who could fight her in close quarters. After that, she could just dodge and jump and run, without having to really fight.

That was if they had sent Pharah, or Soldier: 76 had decided he wanted to chase her himself. Both of the Widowmaker knew how to deal with. What she did not know how to deal with was a bright pink mech suit with an angry Korean inside.

Widomaker cursed, now really running. 

“C’mere, you blue-” Whatever else D. Va was going to say was cut off by the sound of her micro-rockets blasting through the place Widowmaker had been a half second ago. The sniper took a second to line up a shot, wincing as it all but bounced off the mech’s armor. And then she was running again.

This was not a dance. This was a very angry, essentially untouchable soldier against a very fragile sniper. Still, there was some fun to be had. The mech’s sensors weren’t the greatest, it seemed, and Widowmaker put enough distance between her and the Korean to get one or two shots in again before D. Va rocketed to her, blasting away with her fusion cannons, or firing off streams of micro-rockets.

It got old, fast.

So Widowmaker found a way to get past the weapons.

She got on top of the mech. Simple, really. D. Va was too busy hunting her to realize she was being hunted. All Widowmaker had needed was a dark alley with a place to jump from.

What she didn’t plan for was everything after she landed. In hindsight, her idea was terrible. She had no space to maneuver her gun, no was to do anything even moderately annoying to the mech, and D. Va had about a thousand ways to shake her off.

Widomaker didn’t have much time to curse her stupidity, as D. Va had gone for the ‘go fast till she falls off’ strategy.

It worked, fairly well. Widow took her chance early to jump off, landing in a roll and even getting a few shots off before the Korean swung her mech around.

And didn’t stop. With an angry D. Va charging her in a dark and relatively enclosed alley, Widowmaker didn’t have much chance. Luckily, she wasn’t alone.

The mech stopped suddenly, screeching to a halt, before toppling over. Sombra materialized beside Widomaker, smirking as the purple haze of her hacking shrouded D. Va’s mech.

“Don’t hurt this one, yeah  _ chica _ ?” The hacker asked. “We’ve got a thing, you know. Like you and Speedy.”

Widowmaker rolled her eyes, though she wasn’t quite surprised. There was a willful ignorance when it came to dating across the lines among the more independent members of Talon, and, after Reaper had taken Widowmaker under his wing, he’d made it clear that she should have connections on the outside.

Maybe he hadn’t meant get attached to an Overwatch agent, but that was life. And no one questioned when he stopped short of killing Soldier: 76, or any of his old Blackwatch crew.

Well, none questioned any more. After the first few who raised complaints mysteriously vanished, no one said anything.

“I won’t shoot you’re little bunny.” Widowmaker said.

“Yeah, well, I gotta check. Last time you got her good,  _ si _ ?” Widowmaker could tell Sombra had been angry for a while after the Kings Row mission, and now she knew why.

“I won’t shoot her again.” She promised. Sombra must have sensed her sincerity.

“Then have fun!” And the hacker teleported back to wherever she’d left her beacon, leaving Widowmaker to face a deactivated mech and D. Va.

Or, a not so deactivated mech and a very angry Korean. Maybe Sombra had just wanted to get out of the way

Widowmaker launched a poison bomb as a smoke screen, grappling up above, running as she heard the sound of the mech’s boosters.

“Have fun  _ chica. _ ” Sombra said again, this time over their private comm line. “I’ll see you back at base. Try not to die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A decent bit, considering I didn't feel like writing while I was writing it
> 
> Prepare yourselves for some more divers shiping (probably Mchanzo and Som.va) 
> 
> I'll see you lot


	5. Networking

There were two snipers Widowmaker would never want to get caught in  a duel with. Two snipers, in the entirety of the world, who might match (or exceed) her talent. The first had lost an eye in the first duel, but Widomaker knew that Ana Amari was the better sniper. 

She’d gone through the hour long sniper battle in her head, time and time again, and always reached the sae end. 

If Ana Amari had not hesitated, Widowmaker would have died that day. And she knew that Ana would not hesitate again.

The second sniper, she had never fought. But she’d heard of Hanzo Shimada, had seen him in action, and in secret, had worked with the elder brother on her first non-Talon kill. It had been Reaper’s idea. Networking, whatever the hell that meant for world class assassins.

Hanzo fought with a bow and arrow, but that didn’t make him any less deadly. Talon had wanted to recruit him more out of fear he would join his brother in Overwatch than any need for another assassin.

Still, it had irked Widowmaker they had even thought of recruiting someone to do her job, if only in part. For a long while, she had represented the archer. Until he’d saved Tracer’s life.

It had happened just after a mission. Hanzo, much to the upper echelons of Talon’s leadership, had entered into a tentative partnership with Overwatch. It was his first mission with them, and he showed what a true sniper could do.

Even Reaper had been driven back by a pair of angry dragons. Widowmaker had stuck around though, watching the victorious Overwatch agents celebrate through her scope, waiting for Tracer to break off from the group.

That didn’t happen. It seemed Talon had one last trick to play. Tracer, straying away from the group with cheerful blinking. Hanzo saw it first. The lurking bot, probably an old street sweeper model re-purposed with a god program for a one time use. When Tracer triggered it, her harness was on its self imposed cool down, and she’d recalled a few seconds ago. She had nothing but her own instincts.

And even then, that might have been enough. The single chain pulse gun initially missed her, going into a wall on the other side of the square. But the gun followed her, and by the time the rest of the Overwatch agents had brought their guns to bear, Tracer had already been hit, pulse rounds tearing holes in her legs.

But Hanzo Shimada was fast, and he’d recognized the danger before anyone else had. One well placed arrow, and the repurposed omnic was silenced.

But Tracer was still down, bleeding heavily. Lucio rushed over to her, amping up his healing frantically. Widowmaker watched Tracer’s legs knit back together, so painfully slowly. As she stood shakily, Widomaker took her eyes off of Tracer, instead looking to Hanzo, who was saying something to the cowboy.

In return, McCree blushed, ever so slightly, before laughing. And then Tracer was on her feet, shaky and pale, but up and talking, and the Overwatch drop ship had arrived. Knowing that their pre-planned meeting was a bust, Widowmaker left them, deciding that she would pay the archer a visit, if only to thank him.

Then again, maybe Reaper was right about networking. Hanzo could be a good ally to have if she ever did go rogue.

That was for another time, though. For now, she had a Talon base to sneak back to, and an archer to do research on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An entire chapter with no dialogue. Weird. It's kinda a part one, though, so expect a closely related one to follow soon.
> 
> Also, whoa, fifty kudos and five hundred hits. Cheers mate, appreciate it.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, not as good as I'd like it to be, but, hell, it could be worse. Gotta start somewhere, right?
> 
> Thanks for reading you lot, with any luck I'll have some more garbage for you to enjoy!


End file.
